Never Fear (6 page)

The door flew open.

The children were home.

“
Mama, he was here!” Lilja
yelled. “Stekkjastaur!”

“
We tried to stop him,”
Leifur said breathlessly. “He was so ugly.”

“
And big,” Magnús joined
in. “Short, but big like a boulder. We could not stop him. He tried
to grab Lilja, but we pulled her away—”

“
But he drank the ewe’s
milk,” Leifur finished. “He drank it all and then the ewe fell down
on him. He giggled and gurgled and… and…”

“…
and he scratched and
kicked at the ewe.” Magnús picked up the story for his frightened
brother. “I made Leifur take Lilja away… but it was terrible, Mama.
He killed the ewe. Blood was everywhere. I ran out. I could not
stop him. He was crazed—”

“
This is not good, my
children. Stekkjastaur is mischievous but not evil, like his
parents. I had hoped we would not see them this year. I fear it is
an omen.” Berglind patted Lilja’s head. “Calm yourselves now and
come and have your supper. Lilja and I have made half-moons for
after, but you must eat all your stew and brown bread. You need to
stay strong to help Father with the farm.”

Lilja sniffled. “Why isn’t Father home
yet, Mama? Where is he?”

“
Do not cry, child. He
will be home soon, I hope.” She added the last as an aside to
herself. “Eat, children, eat. I will go and take care of the ewe.
And tomorrow you will not wait so long to take care of the cows
from Giljagaur. Promise me.”

“
We promise, Mama,” the
three said, going to the table and getting their spoons.

“
Here is what we will do,”
Berglind said, resolve in her tone. “Tomorrow, before dusk, you two
boys will leave out five buckets of milk in front of the paddock.
This should appease Giljagaur. He may skim all the froth he wishes.
I want you all inside for the evening. Darkness comes early this
time of the year, so be sure to give yourselves enough time. Do you
understand me?”

“
Yes, Mama,” the three
intoned again.

Berglind’s idea worked. The following
evening, while the five milk buckets were cleansed of their froth,
her children and the animals were safe. Her children had not been
good, and her primary concern was the knowledge that Grýla could
come lumbering down the hillside at any time. The hag could decide
to take any or all of them and Berglind could not stop her. Every
day the sense of encroaching disaster grew stronger.

The following two nights brought two
more of the hateful Yuletide Lads: Pönnuskefill, the pan-scraper,
and Thvörusleikir, the spoon-licker.

Berglind brought the children in early
for supper both nights. They had their meal, and then Berglind set
outside two dirty pans the first night and three wooden spoons the
second. The loss of three spoons far outweighed the loss of her
three children. If she could satisfy the Lads, maybe Grýla would
leave them alone.

She hoped.

December sixteenth brought
Pottasleikir, the pot-licker, and as she had done with the
pan-licker, this time she left out two dirty pots for him to
satisfy himself with. When she opened the door the next morning,
there on the ground were her cleaned pots. In her mind, she was
preparing for all of the Lads to visit them.

Askasleikir, the
bowl-licker, would need to be dispatched somewhat differently from
the other “lickers.” He liked to hide under beds and grab a wooden
bowl that had been left out by an unsuspecting victim. Since he
would be coming into their house, she wanted the children to be
with her.
So
that
evening Berglind told the children that they would all share her
bed.

“
But Mama,” Magnús
protested. “I am almost a man. I do not mind so much sharing a bed
with Leifur, but I do not want to share the bed with you and
Lilja.”

“
Nor do I,” Leifur
hastened to add.

Berglind stifled their protestations.
“This night you will do as I say. I do not want to hear one more
word from either of you. Oh, why can you not obey me?” Her voice
had taken on a high-pitched tone of desperation.

The boys pouted but remained
silent.

“
I like sleeping with you,
Mama. And I do not mind Magnús and Leifur with us,” Lilja said
quietly.

“
You are a good girl, my
Lilja. May you always be so.” With Snorri gone these past months,
Lilja had been sharing Berglind’s bed and not the small private
area set up in her sons’ room.

They ate their meal together. The boys
still being somewhat petulant, remained quiet. Berglind and Lilja
cleaned up afterward and gathered their bowls with the detritus
from their stew.

The children positioned themselves in
the bed, Magnús and Leifur on one side, Lilja and Berglind on the
other, and before joining them, Berglind set the small wooden bowls
from their supper on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“
This is very pleasant, my
children,” Berglind said, hoping to ease her son’s ill humor. “Soon
you will all be too grown up to do this. Please, for your mama, let
me enjoy this time with my children.” Her voice caught on the last
word.

Leifur put his hands on his mother’s
shoulder, saying, “Please don’t cry, Mama. We will be good. I am
sorry we made you cry.”

“
I am also sorry, Mama,”
Magnús was quick to add. “It is not so uncomfortable in the bed. It
is not much different with you both than it is with only
Leifur.”

“
Thank you, Magnús. I am
tired tonight. I will be fine. Sleep now, my children.”

Berglind slept fitfully, thoughts of
Grýla and of their next night’s visitor, Hurdaskellir, the door
slammer, kept her thoughts active. She knew without a doubt the
rest of the Yuletide Lads would be visiting them. Their family had
been singled out. Additional thoughts of Snorri and his brother’s
return plagued her mind: Would they have done sufficient work?
Would it have been enough to keep the Yuletide Cat away? They all
must be wearing something new or the Cat would eat them. Had Snorri
gotten them all something to wear?

All of these thoughts ran through her
troubled sleep, and she unconsciously hugged Lilja
closer.

When they awoke the next morning,
Berglind collected the wooden bowls from the floor.

Licked clean. Askasleikir had
mysteriously entered, done his mischief, and left.

Berglind sighed audibly.

“
What is it, Mama?” a very
sleepy-eyed Lilja said, rising from her cozy spot on the
bed.

“
Nothing, little one. But
I am afraid none of us will sleep well tonight.”

“
Hurdaskellir, the door
slammer, comes tonight,” Magnús said and pushed away from the still
recumbent Leifur.

“
Ow,” was Leifur’s
response. “Don’t push me.”

Magnús ignored him. “Mama, do you know
why all the Yuletide Lads are visiting us? What have we
done?”

Berglind gave a bone-weary sigh this
time and strengthened her resolve. She sat on the edge of the bed;
Lilja snuggled to her. “I never wanted you children to know this,
but I fear that if I do not tell you, you will do something to
cause even greater troubles.”

“
Mama, please tell us. You
are scaring us.” Leifur, fully awake, now moved into his mother and
held to her close. Lilja mirrored him on her other side, and Magnús
found himself moving into Leifur.

Berglind began, noting how
fear could bring a family close together, all petty squabbling
instantly forgotten, “Many years ago, before any of you were born,
your father and I had a child, a boy—Stenn.”

“
Oh, Mama!” Lilja
said.

“
Hush, child. It was many
years ago.” Berglind thought for a moment, trying to figure the
best way to tell the children without frightening them too much.
“Stenn was a naughty baby, crying all the time, refusing to eat his
porridge. As hard as your father and I tried, Stenn would not
behave. Yes, he was only a baby, but there are bad children born
into this world, and I fear he was one.

“
Stenn was born the day
before Christmas and on his first birthday, Christmas Eve, Grýla
paid us a visit. It was a bitterly cold night. We had finished
supper and were huddled by the hearth. There was a knock on the
door and Grýla entered. She was gnarled and hideous, as the stories
tell. Your father tried to stop her from coming in, but she used a
spell and froze him in place. She cackled and rasped with an awful,
wheezing voice. She came to me and reached for the baby. And when I
tried to get up and escape her grasp, she froze me also. She took
Stenn from my arms. In her gruff, crackling voice she told us that
Stenn was a bad child, and bad children could not be abided. She
foretold I would have other children, and she would be watching us.
If those children were also not good, she would come for them and
take them as well.”

Lilja was crying in her mother’s arms.
Leifur shook.

Magnús stared, unblinking. He spoke
first. “That is why you are always warning us to behave, isn’t it,
Mama? But we do misbehave—all the time. We are bad children, just
like Stenn.”

“
Not so very bad, Magnús,”
Berglind tried to reassure him. “Every child—”

“
No, Mama, we are bad… at
least Leifur and I are, and we are making Lilja bad also. Grýla
took Stenn, didn’t she?”

Berglind tried to stifle a sob. “Yes,”
was all she could say. She could never tell them the
truth.

“
Grýla is coming for us,”
Magnús said in a low, ominous voice.

Lilja wailed, and Leifur began to cry
in earnest, clutching at Berglind so fiercely she
grunted.

“
Hush, children. Grýla
will not come. Your father will be home soon. Everything will be
fine. You will be good children now. I will make you pepper cookies
on the morrow, but you must sleep now.”

The children quieted after a few
minutes and at last fell into a deep slumber. Not so Berglind. Her
thoughts were occupied with Grýla and visits from the rest of her
brood.

And Berglind’s revelation did indeed
change the children’s attitude. The next day, as promised, she made
pepper cookies, and the children behaved all day and gave no word
of protest when it was time to retire for the evening, once again
all in Berglind’s bed.

And as expected, Hurdaskellir arrived
with a flourish, banging and slamming doors till the wee hours of
the morning. The children remained uncharacteristically silent
through all the noise, causing Berglind to wonder that there might
be hope still for her family.

Magnús decided on the following day,
December 19, to make a game with the Yuletide Lads’ visits with his
siblings. That day, Lilja would prepare a pail of curds for
Skyrgámur, the curd glutton, while he and Leifur would prepare a
string of sausages for the arrival of Bjúgnakraekir, the sausage
pilferer, the following night.

The children participated with much
enthusiasm, and Berglind let them have their fun, knowing disaster
might befall them at any time.

Magnús’ ideas worked. The curds were
gobbled up that night and, similarly, the sausages on the following
evening.

“
What do you have planned
tonight for Gluggagaegir, the peeper, eh Magnús?” Leifur said while
removing the empty string from the arch over their doorway where
the sausages had hung for the previous night’s Lad.

Magnús reached to the peak of the
doorway and released the final strand. He tossed it to Leifur and
said, “When Gluggagaegir peeps in our windows tonight, I have
decided to leave out in plain view a couple of old toys of Lilja’s
that she no longer plays with. He loves any sorts of toys, old or
new. There is a small drum and pipe I have selected for him.” He
brushed some snow from his blond locks that had fallen from the
doorframe onto him, shook his head, and said, “Mama and Lilja are
preparing biscuits for Gáttathefur tomorrow and that should satisfy
him.” He leaned in close to Leifur and whispered, “I told Lilja to
sneak some extra pepper into the biscuits. We will see how he likes
that!”

“
Magnús, do you think that
is right? Did you tell Mama?”

“
No, but do not worry,
Leifur. It is only a joke.”

“
All right. Magnús, do you
think Father will come home in time for Christmas? I miss
him.”

“
He promised to be home
for the Thorláksmessa meal.”

“
But
that’s the day after
tomorrow
,” Leifur whined.

“
Father and Uncle Reynir
will be here,” Magnús asserted. “Do not cry.”

“
I
am
not
crying,” Leifur said, a large tear rolling down his cheek.
“The cold makes my eyes water.”

“
You
are
crying. You are a baby, just like Lilja, always crying.” And
he pushed Leifur into a snowbank.

“
You are
mean, Magnús.
I hate you!
I hope the Yuletide Cat
eats
you!”
He got up and ran into the house.